Late Afternoon
by HopeRomance
Summary: He can never stay long. She's just happy he can stay at all. One-Shot. Post-RoS. Rey/Force Ghost!Ben


"All those years of training. I missed so much," he sighs as she slides into the empty space between his chest and his outstretched arm.

"Making up for lost time. Is that your excuse?" She looks up at him, beaming as his arm curls around her.

He's not warm. He's not cold, but he's not warm either. He simply… is. But when he returns her smile, she could swear the room has gotten ten degrees hotter.

It's like this every time with him. Happy and sad. Passionate and tender. Inevitable and impossible.

Something had happened, she'd worried for days, that kept him from being able to appear to her. Had the light side not welcomed him back? Had his sacrifice not been enough? She had all but given up hope, to the point that when he finally appeared, standing in the middle of the desert, shimmering silver and blue like a beautiful mirage, she first worried that the two-sunned heat of Tatooine had gone to her head.

They had stared at each other, neither daring to move, neither entirely sure of how the other would receive them.

If there were rules, she didn't know what they were. She didn't have anybody to ask.

But then he said her name, and he smiled that smile that she'd only seen from him once before, and she knew that there was no rule, no power in the galaxy that could keep her from him.

She had run, full-speed, kicking up a cloud of sand in her trail, until she reached him. And she launched herself into his open arm, trusting that somehow, _somehow_, he would catch her.

And he did.

"What's next?" He asks her, planting gentle kisses in her hair. He likes it best this way — loose, fanning in a small halo around her head. The loops and ponytails, the version of herself that she presents to the rest of the world, gone.

"We've heard that there's some First Order loyalists hiding out on Mustafar, but the others have it under control. I don't have to go."

"You know I can only stay for so long." He strokes her arm as if to soften the blow of his words.

It's true, of course. He can't spend all of his time on this plane of existence, although something about their connection seems to keep him there longer than he'd typically be able to stay. It's a small blessing.

"Go," he says, using his feet to pull her leg between his, making it physically impossible for her to leave right now. As if she'd ever want to. "Be the leader we've all watched you become."

It still doesn't feel real… the war, winning, falling in love with the one man she swore she'd never associate with, dying, coming back, _him_ dying and coming back but not in the same way.

How did she go from being a poor scavenger, a nobody, to _this_.

"Hey," he says, and she wonders not for the first time if he can read her thoughts, "you have always been remarkable, since the day you were born. Not because of your heritage, not because of your skills, but because of who _you_ are."

His eyes are focused, burning into hers. But the brooding that once occupied his gaze is all but gone. Or rather, it's not gone — just softened, and softening still. There will probably always be a little bit of darkness in him, just like there is in her. But it doesn't matter. She knows better than anybody that it doesn't matter how you're born — it matters what you choose.

And they have chosen each other, time and time again.

She reaches up and places a hand on his cheek. She traces the place where his scar used to be.

"I wish you could come," she says. When she's this close to him, if she shuts her eyes, she can almost catch a hint of his scent.

"I'll be there in a way. I am inside you."

"Interesting word choice," she smirks.

"You know what I mean," he laughs.

She never got to hear him laugh when he was alive. He seems so much younger when he does, so much more full of the joy and hope that evaded him for most of his life. She likes to make him laugh.

He'll have to go soon — she knows that. It never gets easier, but she's able to distract herself with missions and meetings. Helping to restore democracy to a whole galaxy is difficult, time-consuming work after all.

They fall into silence. It's comfortable. Nothing like the many silent hours she spent alone all those years of Jakku.

He keeps rubbing her arm just to burn the feeling of her skin into his memory. Something to hold on to until the next time he sees her.

If only things could have been different. If only there had been enough life force for the both of them. If only Palpatine hadn't taken so much or thrown him so far. He doesn't regret his decision. There's nothing he would do differently. Even if he got to go back to that moment a million times, it would always be her.

The light is fading. Soft golden beams shine through the window, illuminating her face in a gentle glow. He's gotten to watch three sunsets with her this time. He hopes he'll at least be able to stay for a fourth.

She nuzzles closer to his side, tightening her grip on him, as if she's willing him not to go. Maybe that's exactly what she is doing.

"It's such a change," he whispers.

"What is?"

"All my life, I had so many voices that didn't belong to me in my head all the time. And now it's only me."

"How does it feel?"

"Good. Peaceful. Right."

She tilts her head up and catches his lips with hers.

Out of everything, this is one of the things she's most grateful for. Because she knew after that first time, that just the one kiss would never be enough.

And now it doesn't have to be.

He is hers as much as she is his. And it feels good. Peaceful.

Right.


End file.
